For Luck
by flecksofpoppy
Summary: Tifa and Marlene make holiday greeting cards.


**For Luck**

Tifa hasn't pressed flowers since she was 15.

It's nearly impossible to find green things growing under the plate, but occasionally, they do pop up: clover, crabgrass, the occasional stray flower.

It's Christmas and her fifth year in Midgar, and Tifa hasn't been a child for a long time. Marlene, on the other hand, is a child, even if she's seen a lot of things no child should.

Marlene goes down the Sector Six playground slide again and again, never endingly excited by its steepness. Tifa's always found the way that it emerges from the gape of a Moogle mouth to be uncanny, but Marlene remains unfazed.

She smiles at Tifa and shouts in glee – a rare outing when Tifa doesn't have to tend the bar, and she tells Marlene to gather up any clover she sees.

As they search the barren ground, Tifa finds only a small sprig that's almost dead from the cold, and Marlene doesn't find anything.

Tifa takes Marlene's hand, knowing the lower sectors are no place for a child; or so someone had said as much to her, when she had first come here.

They're going to make greeting cards to send to faraway friends in cities that no longer exist.

Wax paper, like most supplies, is scarce, so they use tissue instead. It will undoubtedly crumble in a matter of weeks, and Tifa and Marlene make a giant pile of anything they can find – the random book, a small crate with bottles of liquor in it – to press the clover in between the tissue and flatten it.

"There," Tifa says, smiling at Marlene, "we can wait a few days, and then glue them to some paper and send them off. They'll be pretty."

"Do you have everyone's addresses?" Marlene asks. She's a rather precocious child; or maybe just damaged. It's hard to tell sometimes.

"I sure do," Tifa replies reassuringly.

It's late, and the evening crowd is starting to filter in. She shoos Marlene upstairs to bed, pours herself a shot of whiskey, and sits behind the bar, studying the marks on the wooden surface.

There's so much caught there, so much flattened by the weight of countless glasses and fists, elbows leaning, knives scraping idly until confiscated.

Tifa hears the mechanical noise of a gun being adjusted, and she closes her eyes.

"We made greeting cards," she says as Barret comes to stand at the bar.

"I'll have what you're havin'," he declares.

Tifa pours him two fingers worth and turns back to her own drink.

"What's on 'em?" Barret asks absently, more interested in staring at the door to see who comes in. He's always looking for a fight.

"Clover," she says simply, and turns to check the fullness of each bottle.

"Don't seem very festive," Barret replies with a shrug.

Tifa shrugs too, smiling a little.

"It was your daughter's idea," she retorts. "Well, we had flowers in mind, but..."

Barret nods and finishes his drink in one gulp.

"Who you sending them to?" he asks, and Tifa raises an eyebrow. They must be able to come up with one address between them, but it seems suddenly impossible. He shrugs, as if to say, _no idea._

"Someone who needs some luck," she replies after a moment. "One of them has four leaves."

"Keep that one for us," Barret laughs, shaking his head. Tifa smiles wider and nods. They can use all the luck they can get.

She stares at the bar again, and wishes it was pressed with clover instead of the stench of booze. She looks around, and wishes that she might see a tree out the window instead of weapon advertisements in flickering neon.

"Thanks," Barret says gruffly suddenly, "for... takin' her out."

Tifa rests her head on a hand, smiling sideways as she tilts her head to look at Barret.

"Any time," she says, shrugging.

"Little girl should have a mother," Barret says, staring hard at the door now. "Not that... well, I mean..."

He clears his throat awkwardly.

Tifa laughs outright, and he turns to look at her in surprise.

"Everyone needs a mother in this world," she replies. "Now how about one more, before it gets crazy?"

The tension in Barret's face eases, and finally, he nods. Tifa pours a them both a few more shots of whiskey and raises her glass.

"To Yule and four leaf clovers," she says, a steadfast expression coming over her face.

Barret gives a resolute nod, and they drink to luck.


End file.
